Embrace the Darkness
by Mistress Sarcasm
Summary: Kay finds solace in the darkness. A Buffy/Passions crossover
1. Prologue

Author's Notes: This story is post The Gift on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, therefore Buffy is still very much dead and buried. It takes place the summer after that episode, but the teens are still in Harmony, and Warlock Island never happened (don't we all wish...)  
  
~*~  
  
"This thing of darkness I   
Acknowledge mine."   
--From The Tempest (V, i, 275-276)   
  
With outstretched claws it wrapped around her, engulfing her delicate flesh. It greedily devoured her, taking her in. But she could not summon the will to care. A myriad of tongues swept over her, its hot breath spreading across the palm of her hand. Droplets of charcoal bubbled to the surface with sprits of sizzle snaking into the air. Flames of spun gold snapped and gasped for precious oxygen as hollow eyes watched the slow burn...  
  
"Kay come on! I don't want to miss the previews!"  
  
She slid the lid of the lighter shut with the pad of her thumb, exstinguishing the flame lapping over the grooves and mounds of her hand. Looking down she traced the blackened strokes etched into her palm. Her lips pursed, she blew gently on the blistered skin. She slipped her hand into a glove, her wool sheath shielding all evidence of her arson of the flesh.  
  
"Alright Jess, I'll be right there. Just freshening up." 


	2. Frozen

I touch the fire   
And it freezes me   
I look into it and it's black   
Why can't I feel?   
My skin should crack and peel   
I want the fire back   
- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
  
Droplets of rain streaked the windshield as the car hurled around another corner. Simone always was a horrible driver. Kay lay her head on the window, ignoring the constant jolting rhythm of the car. She curled her legs up on the seat, both as a method of self preservation and for comfort. She was always sore after a car ride with Simone, it was more of a vomit- inducing roller coaster ride than a journey down a country road. She stared out the window, tuning out the blaring pop trash polluting the air waves. Simone also had horrible taste in music. As she ran her slender fingers around the contours of her reflection, she thought of herself as a picture in a frame. Once full of life and vivid colour she was slowly fading away. Her image was peeled and sallow, trapped behind still glass. Her reflection was a crude distortion of the girl that once was.  
  
"Kay you look tired, are you alright?" Simone whispered with obvious concern. "You don't seem like yourself."  
  
Everyone was always saying that lately, that she looked tired or sick. Sometimes they stared at her like she had just wandered out of Aushwitz. She had long felt oblivious towards her appearance. There was a time where the simple act of going to the movies would require meticulous preparation of clothes, hair and makeup. She remembered lacing her hair with streaks of amber, styling it to a perfect sheen. It was all for him, always for him. She would have jumped through fire for him. But she could never match his golden girl, with her starry eyes and winning smile. Kay peered into the rearview mirror and watched them, locked tight in a warm embrace. She was nuzzling the nape of his neck like a newborn fawn, those shining orbs framed by rows of innocent lashes. Kay's own eyes seemed like two firm, black marbles, lacking sparkle and shine. She kept her mousy, chestnut hair swept in a bun at the nape of her neck, a few loose strands lining her temples. There was no bold outfit tonight, with dipping necklines and fabric that hugged her curves. She wore her usually uniform, draped in baggy cotton and worn denim.  
  
Her eyes drifted to the back seat again, where her sister's fingers fidgeted nervously on her lap, and eyes met those framed by wire rims. Kay sighed at the sound of nervous giggles and shy whispers.  
  
"So Reese, what did you think of the movie?"  
  
"Oh well there were obviously a great many historical inaccuracies. For one, it would have been far messier if a cannon ball had really struck that soldier in the head. Plus, ever notice that actors play French people with English accents? It's really quite bizarre..."  
  
They both chuckled at Reese's attempt at a joke. Well, Reese snorted in that annoying way that Kay always hated. Jessica seemed to find it endearing though. She edged closer to him and let her hand slide onto his knee. Kay, on the other hand would have given her patented eye roll and done her best to inch away while Reese shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and continued to moon over her. She couldn't say she was surprised, she knew he would have moved on eventually. She was also happy for her sister, being able to reciprocate feelings that she herself was never able to. He had stopped worshipping his goddess, finding he couldn't warm a heart made of stone.  
  
As their soft hands intertwined with each other, Kay fiddled with the frayed ends of her sweatshirt. Pulling back her shirt sleeve, she ran a fingernail down several raised, parallel marks running along the surface of her wrists. The scars were pale and white, hardly noticable to anyone who wasn't looking for them. She remembered a night similar to this one, when the thunder rolled across the sky. She had waited until everyone had left for the evening, and snuck up to the bathroom. Death by a pink Lady Shiek seemed so glamorous that night, when her tears streaked her cheeks like torrents of vicious raindrops that pounded on the window pane. She remembered eyeing the network of blue veins on her wrists carefully before closing her eyes and striking the first blow. She had been stupid, careless. Maybe even a bit insane. Ribbons of crisp and tender crimson had flowed in deltas down her arm before the tiled floor came hurling towards her face. She recalled waking up in the hospital, her temple swathed in heavy gauze and her arms bandaged. Apparently she didn't do well when exposed to blood. She also remembered the pain. That was something that would stay with her. Not only physically, but the hurt she felt when her family stepped into her hospital room. Concerned faces surrounded her, shaking their heads and wondering where they had gone wrong. For weeks her mother had barely let Kay out of her sight, grabbing her arms and feverishly pushing her shirt sleeves past her elbows to look for evidence of more mutilation. Like a sickness Kay liked the attention, craved it. It was like a sudden rush of adrenaline, to finally be thrust into center ring. Perhaps that is what she sought all along.   
  
Soon the concern faded and everyone stopped checking. They stopped being concerned for poor, psychotic Kay and returned to coddling poor, psychotic Charity. Only occasionally they would notice her unlively expression and ask her what was wrong. But how soon they could forget, how quickly they returned to their blissful lives of ignorance.  
  
Now she would sit in her room, watching the flames lick her hands. She hid the burns well, under layers of cotton and wool. Everytime she watched the orange light rise to touch her, she waited for the heat. Waited to feel the fire burn. But the fire never touched her, she never felt its warmth caress her. She was frozen, and she couldn't seem to find a way to thaw her frigid heart. 


	3. Love's Bitch

Author's Note: This chapter contains spoilers for and quotes from the BtVS episodes Fool For Love, Crush, Intervention and The Gift.  
  
~*~  
  
Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work it's will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it.  
-Spike, Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
______________  
  
London - 1880  
______________  
  
Blue eyes darted frantically over the worn piece of parchment, concentration hidden behind a pair of thin, wire frames. The paper was littered with a messy scrawl. Words pouring directly from the heart gave the writer no time to pause. The young man mumbled nervously to himself and shifted awkwardly in his seat. He was dressed like a proper gentleman, complete with the stiffling tie that shuddered gently against his throat and caused his stuttering to become even more evident. Although his tweed suit was immaculate, his mousy brown hair was unruly and tumbled in masses over his spectacles. The tip of his pink tongue jutted ever so slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on the task at hand.  
  
"Luminous...Oh, no, no, no. Irradiant's better" he mumbled quietly to himself.  
  
A plain-faced waiter approached and streched out a tray before him.  
  
"Care for an hors d'oeuvre, sir?"  
  
"Oh, quickly! I'm the very spirit of vexation. What's another word for gleaming? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see..."  
His face lit up and he wore a gentle smile, his corner teeth hanging slightly over his lower lip in an almost mischievious grin. The waiter arched a curious eyebrow and gave a patronizing smile before slipping off into the crowd of party-goers. The spirited laughter that had once been smothered in the background of his mind drifted to the young man's ear. Everything fell silent again, however, when his eyes caught sight of her...  
  
"Cecily..."  
  
Three syllables. That's all it took for his heart to be enflamed in song. Just three syllables, the three most beautiful syllables in the entire world. To William, there was no other word more exquisite in its simplicity. He turned back to his composition with a renewed vigor and jotted down several more lines before moving into the crowd towards her.  
  
A young woman and her two male companions stood in a circle discussing current events. The young lady looked properly flushed as they spoke of recent atrocities commited in the city.  
  
"I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind..." one aristocrat stated, his muffled words spilling out from behind the cigar that was protruding from his folded mouth.  
  
One of the aritocrats managed to grab William by the arm as he passed by.  
  
"Ah, William! Favor us with your opinion. What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town? Animals or thieves?"  
  
"I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. That's what the police are for." he stated haughtily. His gaze then fell upon Cecily. "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty..."  
  
Deep from within the crowd, a third man snatched the poem from William's hand. He chortled with mirth as he took his place in the circle.  
  
"I see. Well, don't withhold, William." His voice was condescending, his words dripping out of his mouth down the two round sausages he called his lips and past the rotund stomach that protuded over his belt. It shook when he laughed and made William feel particularily uneasy.  
  
The first aristocrat shared the others' curious smirk and piped up "Yes, rescue us from a dreary topic!"  
  
William turned to the man who still had his work clutched in his plump, red hands and whispered almost inaudibly "Careful. The inks are still wet. Please, it's not finished..."  
  
The entire group chuckled under their breath as William's poem was read aloud.  
  
"My heart expands  
'Tis grown a bulge in it  
Inspired by, your beauty effulgent..."  
  
Snide laughter followed with a questionable glance. "Effulgent?"  
  
He should have bloody well stuck with gleaming.  
  
Once he put more thought into it he had discovered many words that rhymed with gleaming. But it was much too late for a sudden spark of creativity.   
  
William cringed when his words were mercilously spat into the waiting crowd of elite aristocrats. His rounded shoulders lurched forward in embarrassment at hearing his own words of undying affection bluster through the party. He felt the wave of crimson spread along the archway of his cheeks, and could practically feel them glowing with the heat. It wouldn't have mattered what the others thought, if it had not been for her. She wore the same blank expression, the same tinge of embarrassment left its mark upon her face. Her glare only left his when she turned on her heel and fled into the parlor. With a dour expression he snatched back his work and left, the tittering sounds of mocking laughter nipping at his heels. He only heard pieces of the mockery that followed.  
  
"And that's actually one of his better compositions."  
  
"Have you heard? They call him William the Bloody because of his bloody awful poetry!"  
  
"It suits him. I'd rather have a railroad spike through my head than listen to that awful stuff!"  
  
He followed her into the parlor, shuffling his feet nervously along the braided rug. He caught a glimpse of her staring out the window, her hands neatly folded in her lap. When she caught sight of him, she began smoothing the folds of her ivory dress that covered her like a layer of frost.  
  
"Cecily?"  
  
She turned and sighed at the sight of him, her face a composition of prim expressions.  
  
"Oh. Leave me alone. "  
  
"Oh, they're vulgarians. They're not like you and I..." His voice still had a certain amount of laughter in it as he motioned towards the other guests.  
  
"You and I? I'm going to ask you a very personal question and I demand an honest answer. Do you understand? "  
  
William nodded. He would have agreed to capture the moon in his breastpocket and give it to her on a silver platter if she had asked.  
  
"Your poetry, it's... they're... not written about me, are they? "  
  
"They're about how I feel."  
  
She was not about to be put off so easily. "Yes, but are they about me?"  
  
William swallowed heavily. His tie was becoming increasingly tight so that his words had to be forced out his throat accompanied by thin breaths.  
  
"Every syllable."  
  
"Oh, God!"  
  
"Oh, I know... it's sudden and... please, if they're no good, they're only words but... the feeling behind them... I love you, Cecily." The words that had been entrenched so deeply in his soul came roaring out in a blazen fury.  
  
"Please stop..."  
  
"I know I'm a bad poet. But I'm a good man. All I ask is that you try to see me..."  
  
"I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William. You're beneath me."  
  
_____________  
  
"Stupid bint"  
  
Golden-orange embers and a sliver of gray smoke swirled around the words as they left his mouth with disdain. The thin, white tube hung limply on his lower lip before it was snatched between the blackened tips of two slim fingers. He eyed the chipped polish for a moment before flicking the cigarette carelessly and smothering the flame.   
  
"Ahh my one and only lady love, Madame Tobacco..."  
  
Spike slid one of his slender girls from her tight packaging and let the crisp white paper slide between his lips. No sooner had one flame gone out, one was relit. That was how it had been his entire life, an endless cycle of death and renewal. His romantic entanglements had been no different. One dying spark had been smothered into the blackened abyss of his heart before another one was illuminated, more glorious and passionate than the ones that had come before.  
  
The cigarette clasped between his pale fingers, he took a smooth drag. The ribbons of smoke circled his lightning hair like a halo. Gripping the handle of his glass mug firmly, he took a long swig of his pint. He tossed the cool, golden liquid down his throat then stared aimlessly at the bottom of the mug. His eyes had begun to glaze over so that he couldn't tell the difference between his own vision and the one skewered by glass. He could faintly make out a faint green figure in front of him.  
  
"Hey buddy, I think you've had enough for one evening..."  
  
Spike squinted for a bit, his brain slowly processing the fact that the demon behind the bar had snatched his mug. He mumbled a few choice expletives before tossing a wad of bills onto the counter top. He nimbly slipped off the bar stool as a clawed hand reached for the cash. Bloody demon bartenders and their overpriced American beer.  
  
His chunky motorcycle boots hit the floor, with the rest of him not far behind. Cursing the putrid stench of the floor permeating his leather duster, he gingerly got to his feet. The glare of neon lights flickered above him and he felt like he was in a club, the throbbing strobe lights pounding on his skull. Without much coordination or grace, he managed to stumble out the exit and into the dark.   
  
Spike fumbled his way through the night, only stopping once when he let his cigarette slip through his fingers and onto his duster. Being set on fire wasn't on his "To Do" list, at least not this evening. His only plans were to get royally smashed, which he had successfully completed in a very short span of time. The stench of demon slime and alcohol assaulted his nostrils and he snorted in contempt. Even while completely sloshed, his senses seemed to be in perfect working order. Emotions too. Yes, those bloody emotions always getting in the way of being properly drunk. His whole life and unlife seemed to be running through his head like a movie montage, and unfortunetly he couldn't slip off to the lobby for a bit of popcorn.  
  
"Cecily..silly...twat..." he mumbled incoherantly through loose lips. He slipped a flask from his duster and brought it to his mouth. His eyes suddenly stung and watered with the introduction of hard liquor. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and spat on the ground. "Stupid bitch... all your fault..."  
  
______________  
  
William staggered down the winding and narrow streets, drunken with his own tears and sorrow. His hands were shaking as he tore his poem to shreds, pieces of his broken heart being carried off into the night along with scraps of paper. He did not notice three figures moving swiftly towards him in a pack, standing together as a wall of silk and brocade. His hunched shoulders clipped one of the ladies and his papers tumbled to the ground.  
  
"Watch where you're going!" he hissed through muffled sobs.  
  
He gathered up the torn sheets and stumbled towards a nearby alleyway. Planting himself on a bale of hay, he finished the job of destroying his work, letting the shredded pieces slip through his fingers along with all his hopes and dignity. The sound of soft cooing struck his ears and he looked up through tear stained eyes to behold a serene vision of maiden beauty.  
  
"And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?   
  
He was entranced by the dark pools of coffee liquer that peered down at him. They were framed by crashing waves of ebony silk and skin the colour of porcelain. She appeared almost doll-like in her delicate features. So pure and innocent...  
  
He sucked in a cool breath and clenched his jaw.  
  
"Nothing. I wish to be alone"  
  
Her mouth curled in a small red bow, she held his gaze. "Oh, I see you. A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory..." her voice sang in strong and steady beats. Suddenly, her eyes took on a maddening glare. " That and burning baby fish swimming all around your head."  
  
Her head was tilted to the side in a coquettish stance, and William shifted uneasily before slowly backing away.  
  
"That's quite close enough. I've heard tales of London pickpockets. You'll not be getting my purse, I tell you."  
  
The corners of her lips spread into a broad grin and she slid towards him. "Don't need a purse." She held her pale hand in front of him, the slender fingers capped with slices of deep crimson. She slowly pointed to his head and heart in succession. "Your wealth lies here... and here. In the spirit and... imagination. You walk in worlds the others can't begin to imagine."  
  
William was riveted by this insightful creature that possessed the ability to delve deep into his soul. "Oh, yes! I mean, no. I mean... mother's expecting me." His words poured out in such a flurry that he scarcely had time to catch them all.  
  
The woman was coming even closer now, midnight spheres with flecks of gold hypnotizing him with their dark grace. She slid her hands up his chest and undid the collar of his shirt. Her grin was even wider now, spreading across the ivory plains of her face. "I see what you want. Something glowing and glistening. Something... "   
  
William could feel his heart beating wildly against the woman's slender hand, waiting on the precipice of desire.  
  
"Effulgent."  
  
William was beside himself. Finally someone who understood. "Effulgent..."  
  
The tip of her tongue rested coyly on the inside of her lip before she spoke again. "Do you want it?"  
  
His eyes grew wide as he carefully placed his hand on the top of her bust.  
  
"Yes, oh god yes..."  
______________  
  
"I am slowly going crazy, one...two...three...four...five...six....switch..."  
  
He drained some more alcohol from his flask before sliding it back into his duster.  
  
"Crazy going slowly am I, six...five...four...three...two...switch..."  
  
Spike stared aimlessly at the night sky, the stars winking at him mischieviously. He snorted and stood up, raising his arms to the heavens.  
  
"Arn't you going to sing me a song? I want my bloody cheery melody! Complete with nauseating chorus and cheesy special effects, just like those poofy boy bands!" he crowed.  
  
Of course his calls went unanswered and his arms fell to his side in defeat. He could see Drusilla's face, full of insane laughter. Hell, maybe she was proud of him, having almost fallen completely off his rocker. He'd always had a certain affection for her charming hobby of naming the stars, whether or not they were actually in view. Maybe he could start aswell. That large bright star could be Cecily. It seemed so posh and prim, confidant in the fact that it was better than the other stars. The one with the mad twinkle could be Dru, his ripe and wicked plum filled to the skin with delightfully succulent darkness.  
  
He closed his eyes and remembered one night when the sky had been filled with a celestial explosion. Beneath that starlight a pair of glinting fangs had taken the life of a humble poet and the darkness had been given a new creature to stalk through its dreary folds. For over a hundred years they owned the night, filling it with screams and gore. They tore a carnal gash across Europe, bound together by their lust for blood. But their perfect black paradise didn't last forever...  
  
______________  
  
Brazil - 1998  
______________  
  
"Why can't you kill her?"   
  
"You're the one who keeps bringing her up!"   
  
Spike stalked back and forth like a man posessed. The night sky blanketed them like a layer of velvet, emanating its lush heat. The tropical palm trees swayed to an unheard calypso beat while an electric storm of blue raged behind Spike's eyes.  
  
"I haven't said a word about the bloody Slayer since we left California. She's on the other side of the planet, Dru!"   
  
Drusilla lowered her head and whimpered, pulling the folds of her silk kimono tightly around her slim figure. "But you're lying! I can still see her floating all around you, laughing. Why? Why won't you push her away?"  
  
His eyes suddenly took on an air of calm as he held out an apologetic hand. His mind was filled with hateful thoughts of Angelus, his mark was still branded on his love's unbeating heart. He scowled in frustration, cursing Angelus and his blonde bitch for forcing a wedge between him and Drusilla.  
  
"But I did, pet. I did it for you. You keep punishing me. Carrying on with creatures like this."  
  
He motioned to creature standing a few feet behind Drusilla. The Chaos demon towered a few feet above ber, his antlers oozing with green liquid. He wore a quizzical expressions as he idly sipped his beer and took in the scene.  
  
"Okay, you guys obviously have a thing going on here."  
  
Drusilla cast a flirtatious glance towards her slimy companion and bit her lip seductively.  
  
"I have to find my pleasures, Spike. You taste like ashes."  
  
"So this is my fault now?" Spike spat in frustration, eyeing the demon warily.  
  
"I didn't know she was seeing somebody..." he shuddered at Spike's deadly glare. "I should take off."  
  
"Yeah, why don't you do that?"  
  
The demon blew a kiss to Drusilla before heading towards the Spanish-style bar. Spike turned his attention towards his dark queen, only to find her still cold and distant.  
  
"You can't blame the ghoul, Spike. You're all covered with her. I look at you... all I see is the Slayer."  
______________  
  
"That one's her. That one'll be the bloody Slayer..."  
  
His eyes remained fixed on the sky, paying special attention to a flickering star. It was radiant but yet it was cowering behind a dark shadow. It was so bright and pure yet always trapped within the confines of the night.  
  
He'd drained the last drop of alcohol during his reverie but he still felt the taste of it lingering on his lips. Even after something's gone, evidence of its presence always remains. He could picture her lying on the concrete, the dust settled around her like mist on the moors.  
  
Buffy.  
  
At that moment he'd seen how truly fragile she was, her willowy form for once looking small and innocent instead of massively strong. He'd realized that even a body of steel could be broken. He'd sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of his fallen angel, her golden curls framing a face that wore the faintest hint of a smile. Sure, he'd cried when Dru left. But with Buffy... they weren't just tears of loss. They were tears of pure anguish and grief, of sorrow and of pain. They were tears of guilt, knowing that he was a complete failure. That he had failed her.  
  
Sod it, he could feel the tears coming again, ready to breach and spill down his cheeks. He clenched his eyes shut, and remembered the rejection, the attitude, the hurt...  
  
______________  
  
"I could've dance all night with that one"  
  
"You think we're dancing?"  
  
"That's all we've ever done."  
  
She had that annoyed little expression where her mouth was puckered like a sour lemon and her eyes narrowed into slits. He wouldn't have cared if she had a paper bag over her head, because at the moment she was sitting on top of him, legs straddled, and in the end that was all that really mattered. She was a persistent one, nagging him all evening about his history and his effective methods of vanquishing slayers. He seized her wrists and hoisted her off of him, running his tongue over his teeth behind his patented cocky smirk. There was that irritated glare again. He stalked towards her, flipping a pool cue into his hands and spun it around.  
  
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up, it's the same bloody question that haunts you: is today the day I die?"  
  
He swung the pool cue into the air in a vicious arc, but Buffy meeted it with an enraged counter-attack.  
  
"Death is on your heels, baby, and sooner or later it's gonna catch you. And part of you wants it... not only to stop the fear and uncertainty, but because you're just a little bit in love with it."  
  
Buffy backhanded Spike across the face, but his wicked grin would not be wiped clean.  
  
"Death is your art. You make it with your hands, day after day. That final gasp. That look of peace. Part of you is desperate to know: What's it like? Where does it lead you? And now you see, that's the secret. Not the punch you didn't throw or the kicks you didn't land. Every Slayer... has a death wish."  
  
Buffy face was totally void of expression, her features a blank mask.  
  
"Even you. The only reason you've lasted as long as you have is you've got ties to the world... your mum, your brat kid sister, the Scoobies. They all tie you here but you're just putting off the inevitable. Sooner or later, you're gonna want it. And the second- the second- that happens... "  
  
Spike clapped his hands together in front of Buffy's unblinking eyes.  
  
"You know I'll be there. I'll slip in... have myself a real good day. Here endeth the lesson. I just wonder if you'll like it as much as she did."  
  
"Get out of my sight. Now."  
  
"Oh... did I scare ya? You're the Slayer. Do something about it. Hit me. Come on. One good swing. You know you want to."  
  
"I mean it. "  
  
"So do I. Give it me good, Buffy. Do it!"  
  
"Spike... "  
  
For a reason he could not possibly comprehend, Spike stepped forward and leaned in to kiss her. She, of course, promptly backed away in horror.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
He grabbed her arms, his words coming out in a breathless pant. "Come on. I can feel it, Slayer. You know you want to dance."  
  
"Say it's true. Say I do want to..." she planted her hands on his black-clad chest and shoved him viciously to the ground. "It wouldn't be you, Spike. It would never be you..."  
  
She threw a wad of cash at him in contempt, his payment for the brief history lesson.  
  
"You're beneath me"  
______________  
  
Funny how both women who had uttered that phrase were now six feet beneath him.   
  
Irony was a cruel and spiteful bitch.  
  
Not that he hadn't deserved being stomped on. He had tried to kill her many a time before he decided it might be fun to shag her instead. If he could breathe he was sure he would suffocate in her essence...  
  
"No, look at me! I... love you. You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut... my throat... I'm drowning in you, Summers, I'm drowning in you.."  
  
Even after his post-chip epiphany, he hadn't been on his best behaviour. Chaining her up and attempting to have her through robotics had not been shining moments of brilliance.  
  
But she had kissed him.  
  
"Don't. That... thing, it... it wasn't even real. What you did, for me, and Dawn... that was real. I won't forget it."   
  
He'd saved Dawn, he'd proven his valour. Maybe it hadn't been a cause for redemption but it had been a small step none the less. For years he dreamt of nothing but dancing on her grave, feeling her blood pump down his throat. But when he made a conscious effort to save her, to stop her from having to sacrifice her life, he'd failed. Her blood was on his hands, shed because of a broken promise to protect her sister until the end of the world. Nothing was left but bitter memories and stolen moments...  
  
"I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster. But you treat me like a man. And that's... "  
  
Bullocks, he was going to cry again. He bit into his lip savagely and stumbled towards his beat up DeSoto. One crisp summer day soon after her death he'd crawled into his car and started to drive. He hadn't stopped until he'd reached the other side of the country. Since then he had blazed a trail of inebriated self pity through several demon bars along the New England coast.  
  
Blinking through the forbidden tears he rubbed some of the protective blank paint from the windshield and turned on the ignition. The scenery passed him by in a whirl along with the memories that flooded his mind. He tried to distract himself musing about what would happen if he were pulled over for drunk driving and forced to take a breathalizer test. That just wouldn't turn out well. A more helpful distraction appeared when he swerved suddenly into a sign by the side of the road.  
  
"Welcome to Harmony. That's... bugger." 


	4. It's a Sucky Life

Chapter 3 - It's a Sucky Life  
  
~*~  
  
"They shouldn't call it It's A Wonderful Life. It should be It's A Sucky Life and Just When You Think It Can't Suck Anymore, It Does."  
-Phoebe, Friends  
  
Her victims were spread out before her in a rumpled heap, their appendages tangled and carelessly strewn about. Another victim went flying over her shoulder and joined the growing pile on the floor. She had fully massacred her closet in an attempt to find an outfit but to no avail. It was becoming clear that she was not going to win this war with fashion. She sighed heavily and ventured back into the battlefield.  
  
"Kay, are you almost ready? We have to go in fifteen minutes!"  
  
Jessica could hear a few muffled curse words coming from the bowels of her sister's closet. She stood in the doorway, impatiently tapping her wristwatch.  
  
"Kay, you are going to be late for your own funeral," she finally muttered exasperrated and skipped downstairs.  
  
Kay poked her head around the corner of the closet door, a pair of pajama bottoms drooped over her forehead. "No sister dear, I am sure for that special occasion I would be quite prompt..."  
  
She crawled out on all fours and collapsed amidst the piles of discarded clothing. Almost half of it could be considered part of the 'Miguel Collection' ; outfits bought in an attempt to win his favour. Kay could streak naked through the living room and the boy still wouldn't bat an eye. Grumbling to herself, she pulled a pink, silk blouse from underneath her and let the silky material flow through her hands. They still bore obvious scars, which she had quickly blamed on a rogue toaster. Her naive mother had given her a cheery smile and flitted back into the kitchen for more Martha Stewart madness.  
  
The soft drone of voices reached her room as the bustling bees downstairs buzzed about getting ready to leave.  
  
"Maybe they'll forget me..." Kay thought to herself. It was a very pleasant thought.   
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't a realistic one.  
  
"Kay come on! It's going to be so fun," she heard Charity's sugar coated voice chirp   
from the bottom of the stairs. "Won't it be fun Miguel? I can't wait to snuggle up next to you on the dance floor."  
  
The pillow smothered Kay's face quickly and effectively, and welcomed her soft groan. She was being forced against her will to go to a dance club to be the fifth, no, seventh wheel in a chortling wagon of teenage debauchery. Simone had even managed to snag a date, and so the ever isolated Kay sensed a feeling of impending wallflower doom.  
  
Plus, she was now starting to sound like Charity.  
  
If she was going to be forced into a dimly lit, badly decorated nightspot filled with half naked teenagers, she might as well be miserable in style. She plucked an extremely tight, extremely short, extremely white dress from her ravaged closet and tossed it over her head, allowing the wall of slick hair to brush past the thin straps that nuzzled her shoulders.  
  
"Good job Kay, you look perfectly slutty," she nodded to her reflection before sweeping out of the room.  
  
~*~  
  
The throbbing glow of multi-coloured lights splashed across his pale features as the all to familiar whisp of smoke slithered up from the end of his cigarette and danced to the jungle beat. Once or twice, a scantily clad feline would sneak up and slide her paws over the soft leather that covered his shoulders and purr seductively in his ear.  
  
"Wanna dance?"  
  
Each time he had shrugged off her claws and watched her slip sulkily back to the dance floor to join the pack of beautiful young creatures wearing clothing that barely covered their forms as they gyrated to the music.  
  
Spike slugged back yet another beer, thinking of the beaten car that sat waiting for him wearily in the parking lot. The the neon sign that screamed "Tantric" perched above an open door had drawn him in. He gladly entered the building, its gaudy style making it appear like a painted lady standing amidst a group of prudish nuns. She beckoned him with promises of the numbing pleasure of alcohol.   
  
His world was becoming fuzzy once more, like the soft skin of a peach. He swiveled around in his chair to take in the scene. The club in which he found himself sitting was obviously new, jammed in between cute craft stores in the city's attempt to be hip. The tiled floor, where hundreds of feet clad in strappy sandles and slick leather boots shuffled to the constant bass, was still shining with a thin coat of polish. The glass from which he slurped his liquor was also spotless, which was a nice change from the shitty dives he'd visited lately.  
  
Watching the masses of young people staggered in clumps and dancing to the tireless techno rhythm, Spike felt a tinge of longing for The Bronze with its red pool tables and flowering onions. This place only had glass bowls lining the bar filled with piles of salty peanuts. He took one in and rolled it in his mouth, feeling the granules of salt with his tongue. He almost choked on it when he saw a sudden flash of blonde hair.  
  
A girl with hair the color of honey was swaying softly to the music. Her movements were far more graceful than those of her mechanical companions. She was partially blocked by a dark haired boy as she rolled her shoulders and back against his chest. Those unwanted memories came flooding back as he remembered his first glimpse of Buffy at the Bronze, her blonde head leaning against Xander. He had stalked around the club, watching her.  
  
Hunting her.  
  
It was not just primal force that drove him, but a certain amount of lust. The seed of love, however twisted, had been planted then.  
  
He shook his head furiously and cursed the memories, and his attentions were brought back to the girl. His first impressions of her proved to be quite false. Now that she was in plain view, he could see her hair was thin and stringy, not at all like the golden hair of his slayer. She wrapped her toothpick arms around her partner's neck and scrunched her face into a sort of half smile.  
  
"Beer goggles can turn any harpie into a goddess," he muttered before sliding off his chair and taking a last swig of his beer.  
  
He was about to turn and slide his glass across the bar when another flash of hair caught his eye.  
  
A lenghty curtain of brown-gold lying straight down her back.  
  
Spike arched his scarred eyebrow quizzically and murmered, "Nibblet?"  
  
The girl turned to reveal the face of a sullen teenage girl. A sullen teenage girl that wasn't Dawn. Of course it couldn't have possibly been, Spike knew that. He needed to push his memories of Sunnydale, of everything to do with ... her out of his mind. His eyes remained transfixed on the girl with Dawn-like hair and a face pinched like a sour lemon. She kept her arms crossed across her chest, pulling them tight against her diaphonous white dress. She was pretty, he thought. But whatever small beauty she had was marred by the increasingly dour expression on her face.  
  
The frenetic lights streaming through the club were beginning to hurt his eyes. Taking a final look at the girl in white, he pulled his leather duster tight around him and stumbled out of the club.  
  
~*~  
  
"Is that a mirror in your pocket, because I can see myself in your pants."  
  
Kay's legs tensed as she clenched her thighs together and glared at the stranger. His colorful patterned shirt hung open to reveal a thick gold chain, and his tight leather pants squeaked as he edged closer to her. He had obviously bathed in cologne before coming.  
  
"I'm not wearing pants you half wit," she spat.  
  
He ran his lecherous eyes up her legs before lifting a hand to brush her hair and whispering something that made Kay's pale face become flushed with fury.  
  
Slipping from his grasp, Kay tripped onto the dance floor and slid through clumps of sweat covered bodies. She spotted Charity and Miguel with their limbs entangled, swaying gently to the furious beat while everyone else around them swirled in a rhythmic haze. Kay massaged her temples and hoisted her dress up. It felt like being wrapped in cellophane, and she constantly felt the presence of roving eyes unwrapping the plastic that held her in. She felt increasingly stupid acting like the shy nymph when the look she had been going for was the smoldering vixen. The swirl of music, light and people began to envelope her and she felt herself give into the beat. Throwing her hands up in the air she began to dance wildly, throwing herself against any male who'd take her. She didn't care anymore. The faces of the guys in front of her blurred and meshed together and joined the kinetic swirl around her. It was freeing, feeling the mind numbing beat of the music pound in her skull. Nothing but the steady drone of the bass.  
  
Suddenly, she felt her head slam against the floor. She lay sprawled on the ground, and looked up to see a group of young women staring down at her. One appeared to be gloating, her ample chest barely contained in a stich of reptile skin. They all hissed and slithered away into the crowd, which soon closed the gap around where she fell. Pushing herself up and out of the crowd, Kay stumbled and limped when she discovered one of the heels of her platforms was broken. She hobbled towards the bar, absent mindedly wondering if she could rub off the stamp on her hand that branded her a non-consumer of alcohol.  
  
Another sudden jolt startled her when the poorly dressed stranger from earlier slammed into her, carrying two glasses of bright red punch. The liquid splattered down the front of her white dress leaving a bubbling trail. The stranger stammered and apologized, but he found himself talking to Kay's back as she stormed away from him. Not bothering to tell her friends she was leaving, she carried her broken shoe in one hand and slipped into the alleyway.  
  
Brushing her tangled hair from her eyes, she squinted them tightly to keep the tears from spilling out. It was then she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and she flipped her head around to view the stranger. He had a suave grin that revealed rows of glinting teeth.  
  
"Sorry about that baby, I was..."  
  
"I don't care what you were doing, leave me the hell alone," Kay snorted pushing the hand off her shoulder and returning to her path. She became increasingly frustrated when she felt the hand on her shoulder again.  
  
"Bite me," she snapped.  
  
A cold rush flowed through her and she felt the hand tighten it's grip.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask."  
  
~*~  
  
The loud scream of the horn woke him with a start as it molested the night air with its high pitched squeal. Spike lifted his head off the steering wheel of the car and blinked his eyes allowing them to adjust to the light. The squeal of the horn quickly faded away as he stepped out of his car for a smoke. He slipped the cigarette between his lips when another scream shattered the silence. Absently, he looked at the steering wheel of his car, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary he fished his lighter from the pocket of his duster. He almost lit himself on fire when he was startled by another scream. His alcohol soaked mind tried to process the direction of the sound as he flicked the unlit cigarette to the ground and trotted towards the noise.  
  
The scream was growing louder and clearer, so he knew he must be getting close. Either that, or the sound of the scream was echoing inside his head. He decided to take a chance and turned around a corner into an alleyway. He was confronted with the sight of a large, badly dressed vampire descending his fangs to the exposed neck of a young woman. She had stopped screaming and was breathing frantically as she struggled to get free. Spike sprung forward just as she managed to free herself from his grasp. Perhaps a spot of violence would sober him up. The badly dressed vampire clawed at the girl, breaking one of the straps of her dress and leaving four vertical lines down her shoulder and collarbone. Spike flung his arms around the other vampire's neck just as the girl collapsed on the ground.  
  
In his foggy mind he heard his muffled voice shout, "Get out of here!" But, he couldn't be sure if he actually said it for the girl was paralyzed on the spot. His fist connected with the other vampire's head, but the creature howled and backed up, sandwiching Spike between it and the wall. He felt himself slide to the ground and he shook his head to rid himself of the dizzying effect. Across the alleyway, he could see the other vampire towering over the girl, trying to snatch her arm. She was groping beside her with her free hand, and as Spike pulled himself to his feet in order to fling himself at the vampire once more, he saw her hand grasp in desperation an abandoned piece of sharp wood. She swung it wildly, aimlessly stabbing at her attacker.  
  
The next moment, the girl was encircled in a cloud of dust that rapidly disintegrated on the ground. Spike cocked an eyebrow at her as he approached, and extended his hand. She looked at it like it was covered in puss-filled warts and got up on her own. Spike shrugged and slid out a cigarette for his missed smoke.  
  
"You're welcome," he snorted around the cigarette. It was then he noticed that she was the girl in the white dress that he had mistaken for Dawn in his drunken stupor.  
  
"You're welcome? Your welcome for what exactly?" she said, scowling.  
  
"Well, usually a lady thanks a gentlemen for saving her life."  
  
"You, a gentlemen? That's a laugh," the girl said scanning Spike up and down. "Besides, you were busy slumping against a wall like a drunken fool. So thanks for getting in my way."  
  
"Getting in your way? I bloody well saved your ungrateful arse!"  
  
"For your information, I didn't need saving thank you very much. I was doing just fine on my own. Some guys just get a little agressive, I know how to handle myself."  
  
"That git wasn't trying to give you a hickey luv. Do you have anything idea what that..."  
  
"I don't care," she interrupted, "I have seen too much weird shit in my lifetime to give a damn, especially tonight. Now do me a favour that I can be sure to thank you for. Fuck off."  
  
"Well Sunshine, aren't you the bright and cheery one. Did kitty drink some sour milk this morning?" He sneered and snatched the cigarette from his lips, letting it dangle between his fingers.  
  
"This little kitty has claws, and unless you want to see some of your drug-store bleached, overly gelled Ken hair end up in clumps under those claws, I suggest get out of my way. Now."  
  
Gone was the sullen look of the girl he had seen in the club. A fire had been lit behind her eyes and she spit sparks like a firecracker. Spike gladly obliged the lady's request and stepped back as the girl huffed past him, wobbling on her one platform with the other clutched in her hand.   
  
He chuckled as he slipped the white tube between his lips again and watched the girl disappear down the alley.  
  
"Later Sunshine."  
  
  
~*~ 


	5. Fly Away

~*~  
  
I follow the night  
Can't stand the light  
When will I begin  
To live again  
One day I'll fly away  
Leave all this to yesterday  
What more could your love do for me  
When will love be through with me  
Why live life from dream to dream  
And dread the day when dreaming ends  
-Satine, Moulin Rouge  
  
The fairy tale twilight of tiny diamonds caught in the black netting of sky created a dome under which the snow covered ground shone with snow globe perfection. A splash of red added a touch of colour to the sparse surroundings. A girl lay on the ground wrapped in a red silk dress, her chocolate hair spread out around her head like the tangled roots of a wilting flower. She stared upwards, watching the stars move across the sky in a choreographed dance. A faint humming drifted through the night air, its eerie melody slipping into each and every crack where neither light nor shadow could penetrate. It reached the girl's ear, and she tilted her head to listen closely to the tune.   
  
Suddenly, a hand clapped over her mouth and she was unable to scream. The hand increased the pressure and the girl began to suffocate, her remaining breaths becoming snuffed out of her.  
  
And in her bedroom, in the middle of the night, Kay Bennett woke up suddenly drenched in a cold sweat and gasping for breath  
  
~*~  
  
Kay rubbed her tired eyes and padded down the stairs into the kitchen. Sleep had not been any more pleasant after her startling dream. She tried hard to remember all the details, but colours blurred and edges softened until the dream became a wispy cloud in her memory. Reaching a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn she flopped down at the kitchen table and rested her head on its wooden surface. The clank of a cereal bowl startled her as she looked up to see cornflakes cascading into the plastic dish followed by waves of white milk.  
  
"Did you have a nice sleep sweetheart?" her mother asked cheerfully.  
  
"Well actually..." Kay began, before sitting up and realizing her mother had been talking to Charity.  
  
"Just fine Aunt Grace. I had the most wonderful dream," Charity giggled, the words dripping past her syrupy lips.   
  
Grace turned around and it seemed she spotted Kay for the first time.  
  
"Oh good morning honey. How was the dance last night?"  
  
"Just peachy," Kay responded, repressing a scowl. She stared aimlessly into her cereal, idly swirling her spoon through the snow white milk. White like snow...  
  
She let the spoon fall on the table with a metallic clatter and was halfway to the stairs before she shouted, "May I be excused?"  
  
Flopping down on her bed she buried her head in her hands and tried again to remember the dream. White, red and black molded together in a swirl, but she could not pick out specific details. She barely heard the door creak open and the shuffle of her sister's footsteps.  
  
"Someone's in a bad mood this morning... again," Jessica muttered as she sat on her own flowered bed spread. "When did you leave last night? We looked everywhere for you."  
  
"Oh, so you noticed I was gone. Good for you," Kay quipped, sitting up and staring at her younger sibling.  
  
"Don't give me that attitude Kay. You're the one with a bug up your ass, not me."  
  
Kay opened her mouth but before she could reply to Jessica's remarks, the younger girl was on her feet and out of the room. Grumbling to herself, Kay pulled a pillow over her head and let out a muffled scream of frustration.  
  
Dropping the pillow to the floor, Kay shuffled towards her dresser and stood in front of the mirror. With scars on her arms and now bite and scratch marks, her body was the map of a war zone. Pulling a sweatshirt over her head to blanket her marred figure, she approached the window. Peering out she saw a small bird sitting on the window sill. As soon as she pressed her fingers against the glass the bird spread its wings and soared, the summer breeze lifting it and sending it gliding through the air.  
  
Back on the ground Kay Bennett watched through the glass wall of her cage in envy, wishing she had the wings to soar.  
  
  
~*~  
  
"Kay, when did our friendship become merely an acquaintance?"  
  
Kay was startled at the question, and turned to face her friend. Simone's features were painted in a solemn tone, her mouth a firm and hard line drawn across her face.  
  
"When did this friendship just become convenient?" she continued, "When did it become something that just... is?"  
  
"Maybe it was when you decided to become Charity's best friend instead of mine," Kay retorted, shifting in the plastic lawn chair and staring down the trees that lined the Bennett's backyard.  
  
"Don't give me that crap Kay, when I could have told them everything you did..."  
  
Kay snorted with bitter laughter. Her entire family still didn't know of all her misdeeds, and Simone was the locked vault that kept all her secrets from spilling out.  
  
"Are you going to keep that hanging over my head, or does this conversation have a point?"  
  
She avoided Simone's hurt expression and faced the long line of horizon in front of her. Of course Simone was right, she always was no matter how much Kay hated to admit it. And she was correct now in the astute assessment of their flawed friendship.  
  
"My point is, before your obsession with Miguel and my ridiculous crush on Chad, things were different. I thought that once we got over them that we would go back to being friends instead of accomplices."  
  
Simone had long since given up the notion that Chad had real feelings for her. It made Kay burn with envy that Simone could so easily move on with her life when Kay still felt pinned down. She struggled with the ties of her past that still held her firmly to the ground, forbidding her from taking flight.  
  
"I know that you said you have given up on Miguel, and I am proud of you for that. It's just that now you're..." she paused for a moment, narrowing her eyes to get a better look at Kay, "I mean it just seems like you're..."  
  
"That I'm what, a purple monkey? Spit it out already!"  
  
"Different," Simone finished in a hushed tone, almost like it pained her to say the word. She glanced at Kay's attire, which consisted of the heavy gray sweatshirt and the torn and faded blue jeans she wore almost everyday, despite the sweltering heat of summer. Simone eyed Kay's arms hidden beneath the baggy material. Kay played with the frayed edges of her sleeve nervously, as if afraid Simone would burn a hole through the sleeve with her glare and see the scars of depression.  
  
When Kay didn't reply, Simone leaned towards her and stared straight into her distant eyes. Kay gazed up to see a look of utter pity, and it made her feel like a pathetic worm. "I'm glad you're over Miguel. I'd hate to see you carry that burden in your heart." Simone bit her lip and shook her head slightly, as if she had just said a rehearsed line that she didn't actually believe in, and felt glad that it was over.  
  
Kay remained silent and Simone slowly got to her feet and marched towards the street. It felt as though they had just finished the final court proceedings annulling their friendship. She watched Simone turn into a tiny speck and disappear over the hill, taking the last remnants of their friendship with her.  
  
"Good-bye Simone," Kay murmured to herself.  
  
Looking back as she wandered further from the Bennett house, Simone saw Kay slip further and further away until she was just a shadow of her former friend.  
  
"Good-bye Kay," she whispered, only the night air hearing her solemn farewell.  
  
~*~  
  
His mouth curled into a cocky grin when he saw her.  
  
There she was, hovering in front of the transparent windows of a quaint cafe. She was hunched over her cup of coffee, running a gloved finger around the rim between sips.  
  
Sunshine.  
  
He strutted towards her, his one shoulder dipping in step with his arrogant stride. The leather of his duster brushing against his legs was the only sound as he creeped up behind her.  
  
"What you staring at pet?"  
  
She whipped her head around so fast he thought her ponytail might thrash him across the face. He stepped back slightly and took in her furious glare. Her eyebrows met in a angry point above her scrunched nose as she narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
"Nothing," she spat maliciously before turning around and facing the window again.  
  
Spike casually stepped in front of her, blocking her view. She tried to peak around him but he continued to move in front of her.  
  
"Didn't expect I'd get a dance today Sunshine," he laughed plucking a fresh cigarette from its package and sliding it between his lips.  
  
"Smoking can kill you," the girl muttered  
  
Spike shook with repressed laughter, desperate to spout his effective retort to that remark, but thought the better of it and let his arm drop loosely to his side. "Are you ever going to answer my question?"  
  
"I told you, nothing. Not that it's any of your business anyways. It's nothing," she muttered in a hurry.  
  
Spike looked past her through the window at a sickenly sweet couple sipping their lattees and staring at each other lovingly. "It doesn't look like nothing. As a matter of fact, that is definitely a something. Something you happened to be staring at yesterday in the club..."  
  
Her mouth twitched slightly as she continued to glare at him. "I wasn't staring."  
  
"I think the two eye-shaped holes in that boy's sweater beg to differ. You in love with him?"  
  
The girl's mouth dropped open at his sudden inquiry. "What the hell kind of question is that? I can't believe a perfect stranger is asking me about my love life..."  
  
"Are you?"  
  
Her mouth clamped shut and she scrunched her nose in distaste. She shifted uncomfortably and crossed her arms across her chest. "No, of course not."  
  
He looked at her carefully, and one look in her eyes told him she was lying. He ran his tongue over his teeth and stepped a little closer to her.  
  
"So, you're not in love with Ricky Martin there. Frankly, I don't blame you. It would be a pity for any girl to fall for someone like that..."  
  
"What do you mean, someone like that? Someone like what, in love with someone else?"  
  
"Not unless that someone else is the geek with the glasses who kept checking out your tits last night."  
  
He repressed the mischievous grin forming on his face to steal a glance at her horrified expression. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
  
"Oh well, your boy there is a poof."  
  
"A what?" the girl exclaimed, the horrified look on her face becoming more repulsed every second he spoke.  
  
"Poof, pooftah..." Spike enunciated, slowly emphasizing the vowels with his lips. "He prefers outties to innies..."  
  
The girl clapped her hands over her mouth in shock, finally understanding his full meaning. "Miguel is not gay!"  
  
Spike chortled as he slid the fresh cigarette between his lips and glanced back over his shoulder to take a look at this Miguel. "Well let's see, he dresses impeccably, and he seems to have a fondness for that nancy-boy hair gel. That's always a definite sign. He's also dating a broomstick with hair. You got yourself a flaming poof. Bet he even owns a pair of leather pants..."  
  
"But.."  
  
"I bet that is what attracted you to him in the first place," Spike interrupted, "his kind and gentle nature. The perfect little gentlemen, I wonder where he keeps his valiant steed. Probably next to his Barbara Streisand poster..."  
  
"Stop it! Miguel isn't gay, he is just ... sensitive."  
  
"Right, just like Richard Simmons is just ... flamboyant." Spike stepped towards the window and tapped on the glass, motioning to the skinny girl with flaxen hair. "He probably hasn't even tried to get between her legs, and when he snogs her he's thinking of Mr. Palm Pilot over there," he said pointing towards the boy at the counter pushing his thick black glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I bet those two do a lot with their palms..."  
  
Without warning, the girl stepped forward and punched him in the arm, her fist crinkling the soft leather.   
  
"I don't even know you, and already I think you are a disgusting pig."  
  
"Sing me a new song luv, I've heart that tune before."  
  
"Miguel. Is. Not. Gay," she said, each word a precise cut in the air between them.  
  
Spike dropped his cigarette on the ground, crushing it beneath his boot heel. Mission accomplished.  
  
"You know, for someone who isn't in love with him you sure like to stick up for the boy. You're quite passionate about it in fact..."  
  
The girl's nostrils flared and her eyes widened. "He's just a friend. Just a close friend."  
  
He watched her turn her back to him and flee into the cafe, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He stepped forward and leaned against the glass, watching her closely as she sat down alone at a table, purposely situated far away from this Miguel and his twiggy girlfriend.  
  
"Just a friend eh Sunshine? We'll see about that..."  
  
~*~  
  
The swoosh of black leather was becoming all too familiar.  
  
She watched him saunter in, the mischievous grin still playing across his lips. She tried to hide her face behind her coffee cup, but her hiding place proved to be inadequate when he decided seat himself on the chair across from her. She scowled at him above the simmering brew.   
  
"Are you stalking me?"  
  
He looked taken aback, almost insulted at her inquiry. The wicked grin then returned and he leaned in close, resting his arms on the table.  
  
"So tell me pet, do you have a name?"  
  
"Don't call me pet. I am not your golden retriever or your turtle."  
  
"Don't like turtles, nasty little buggers," he mused before continuing, "No really Sunshine, if I am going to stalk you like you say I am than I need something to call you. I don't want to leave you stuck with such a woefully ironic nickname."  
  
Her upper lip curled in distrust and she took a few sips before responding. "Kay."  
  
"Kay? Pretty name Kay," he repeated the name to himself, letting the single syllable roll off his tongue.  
  
"So, I'll need to know your name as well when I report you to the police."  
  
"C'mon, don't get cheeky now luv. But I'll tell you my name anyway, just because I like you. It's Sp... William."  
  
"Sp-William?" Kay repeated, arching an eyebrow at his blunder. "Was your mother very drunk when she named you?"  
  
"The name's Spike. Used to be William, but that was bloody boring if you ask me."  
  
"Which I am not," Kay interrupted. "Spike... yes your mother was very drunk when she named you. It would explain a lot of things. So William..."  
  
"Spike"  
  
"Whatever. Are you ever planning on telling me why you are following me around?"  
  
He leaned back in his chair, letting one arm hang loosely at his side, while the other remained on the table. She noticed his hands for the first time. They were elegant hands, stark white contrasting with chipped black polish. He was rubbing his fingers together in a circular motion, flakes of black falling on the wooden surface. He brought his hand up to his lips while contemplating her question, as if he was feeding himself the answer. "I can't help it if you live in a shoe box. You are bound to run into people from time to time..."  
  
"Well, do you mind telling me what exactly you feel it is necessary to lecture me on my love life?" she inquired with disdain.  
  
"Or lack thereof?" he finished, "The thing is, when you see someone wrapped up in chains and staked to the ground you don't want to stand by idly."  
  
Kay stared at him for a moment after that odd remark, but he had only to toss a glance at Miguel to begin to understand his meaning.  
  
"You go on pretending what you feel isn't really there, that you are over him," he leaned in close, so that his voice was just above a whisper, "but you will never be over him. He made a nice little dent in your heart, and no amount of plastering over it will cover the damage. It weighs you down, pulls you under and pecks at you until you are an empty shell with nothing inside but damaged goods. For so long all you breathe is them, and when you try and stop it's like cutting off your oxygen supply. You try and get away and it keeps after you, out for blood. Love will break you and throw you to the gutter to be devoured by your own self-hatred. You're like a little bird with broken wings, trying desperately to fly away but you can't. You're stuck on the ground with your face in the dirt and there isn't anything you can do about it."  
  
Kay's eyes were locked in two fierce blue circles staring at her intently. Her heart began to pound wildly at the thought of a complete stranger drilling a hole straight through to her core and taking a peak inside her heart. She was so completely flustered that she did the first thing that came to mind.  
  
She stood up, poured the remaining coffee onto his lap, and walked out the door without a backwards glance. 


End file.
